


The Boy Who Rose

by ElementalImmortal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Vernon Boyd & Erica Reyes, BAMF Stiles, F/M, Hurt Stiles, Ignores most of Alpha Pack stuff, M/M, Sacrificed Stiles, Sheriff Stilinski Knows, Stupid Pack, Thanks a lot Allison, Werewolf Jackson, Werewolf Lydia, Zombie Argents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-15 20:28:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1318114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElementalImmortal/pseuds/ElementalImmortal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The pack is growing into a real family, and, normally, Stiles would be jumping for joy. If only it wasn't under the care of Jennifer Blake. No one but Stiles can see the evilness that seems to pour from her soul, and soon, Stiles is pushed out of the pack. In a situation where they are forced to choose, the Pack chooses Jennifer. Stiles is forced to strike out on his own, and in doing so, encounters horrors he has to experience on his own, until he encounters a new family.</p><p>OR</p><p>The one where Stiles is abandoned and yet somehow still manages to thrive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boy, Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> So I was just sitting there, doing nothing when the old thinker thought of this. This Fic is going to ignore a lot of what happened with the Alpha Pack and Jennifer, but don't worry, I'll still make it good for you guys.
> 
> This is my first time, so treat me tenderly and comment and tell me how you like this.
> 
> Enjoy!

One morning, at precisely 3:36 am an explosion shook Beacon Hills. Stiles Stilinski was the only one who felt it. He had been in his room, recovering from the latest Alpha Pack Attack-  _heh-_ where he had watched the Alphas kill Derek Hale. Stiles hadn't been able to sleep. He had cocooned himself in his blankets and lay, staring into the darkness of his room and waiting for something to reach to drag him in. His room hadn't started out dark, though. When he had come home a few hours before, it had been to an empty house. He had showered and, feeling too hollow to eat any thing, had fallen into bed with all of the lights in the house on. The sheriff came in hours later and switched off every light, including Stiles' after checking to make sure the boy was there. Stiles had been awake when this happened. He had wanted wanted to call out to his father to leave the light on, but had been too afraid to face him. So, Stiles laid  in the dark, craving light. His phone laid a little more than and arm's reach away, but Stiles was too afraid to reach into the darkness, to offer himself up to be taken- again.

 

When the explosion happened,  Stiles' body had frozen. His heart pounded a mile a minute. A cold sweat immediately covered his skin. His  ragged breaths filled the room as Stiles waited for whatever it was to come for him, and he knew it would. He could feel it moving closer, it's presence making the world around it rot and wilt. The thing poured evil from miles away, suffocating Stiles even though it hadn't reached him yet. Stiles lay there, paralyzed, yet shivering with a sudden unending draft of freezing air. 

 

Something knocked against the side of his house, just below his window, and Stiles jumped, his heart beating even faster than before as he turned to stare out the window. The sound of crushing wood began to move slowly upward toward his window, like footstep, and the air filled with an oppressive rankness that had his eyes watering. The sounds stopped when they reached about high enough to be at this window and Stiles muttered a prayer for the mountain ash barrier lining the sill. The thing outside the window, its features cloaked in darkness, attempted to move forward, only to be stopped. It let out a screech and slammed a fists against the barrier, smoke rose from them as the figure drew them away. The figure repeated this for a while, before stooping abruptly, and tilting its head to the side.Stiles heard it breathe in deeply, before it seemed to purr the words, "Hmm, Alpha."

 

Stiles let out a gasp and the things head snapped back toward him. It leaned forward, until its face pressed against the invisible barrier. As it made contact, the barrier lit up in defense, allowing Stiles to get a glimpse of the the thing's twisted, mutated features. "We will meet again, little Spark," the monster rasped out before disappearing.

 

Stiles woke up screaming.

 

He hadn't realized he had fallen asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next day, Stiles inspected the side of his house. There was a large path of dead grass leading up to the house as well as several hand shape gouges in the side of the house.

 

The day after that, he returned to school to find he had a new English teacher who went by the name of Jennifer Blake.

 

Stiles didn't like her.

* * *

 

 

Stiles sat at the end of the long, rectangular dining table. Not at the honorary guest end either. No, he sat in the Omega Seat. The seat reserved for the weakest, least important member of the pack- which should have been Jackson. Up at the head of the table, Derek sat with Scott at his right, Boyd, Issac, Erica, Lydia and Stiles following him. On his right was... was... Jennifer-Freaking-Blake, followed by Chris Argent, Allison, Jackson, Melissa, and the Sheriff. Stiles was separated from everyone by two seats. No one had said anything about the large gap between them.

 

And why would they? According to Jennifer, establishing structure withing the pack was the first step in them truly becoming a unit. And, sure, Stiles agreed... but when the fuck had Ms. Blake become an expert on Pack Dynamics? And why the hell did she have the authority to enforce her ideas? Stiles had suggested pack activities and bonding months ago, and had been ignored. All of his ideas were rejected until Jennifer Blake entered the picture and decided to become Martha Stewart. All She had to do was flutter her lashes at Derek, and suddenly they were having pack meetings and dinners every Sunday, Wednesday, and Friday. Everyone together like a family under the direction of Jennifer Blake.

 

And Stiles hated that.

 

Don't get him wrong, this was a good thing... but Stiles had been trying to accomplish this for months! While things were in Chaos from the Alpha Pack, Stiles had attempted to create a safe haven for everyone only to be thrown aside. All he had gotten for his efforts was several concussions and his dad being brought into the loop without his consent And now that it had finally happened, he was being forced to the outer edge, only able to observe the happenings. Hell. Even Chris Argent- A Hunter!- seemed to be higher in the cast system than him, and he wasn't even a true pack member!

 

The thing that bothered him the most, though, was that these people, his pack and family had let this happen. Scott was supposed to be his brother, but they had barely spoken since Allison came into the picture. Scott never seemed to have time for him anymore and their conversations were usually filled with him waxing poetic about the smell of Allison's hair. Allison, who Stiles did  **not** trust. She had allowed herself to be manipulated too many times and she couldn't even use the excuse of grief the first time. None of that mattered to Scott. 

 

And the Sheriff... Stiles had at least expected his dad to question the way he was treated. But, their relationship hadn't been great since Jennifer had sat the Sheriff down and explained about everything. _As if she was there when everything was going on._ The Sheriff had barely even looked at Stiles ever since and most of his time was spent between the station, the McCall's, and the new Pack House.

 

Derek's reaction was another blow to Stiles. He had always been so unreachable no matter how hard Stiles tried to connect with him. Derek whose life Stiles had saved countless times. Derek who had saved  _Stiles'_ life. Derek who had slept in his room.

 

Derek, who he was just a tiny bit in love with.

 

Okay, who he was hugely in love with.

 

Derek, who was apparently in love with Jennifer.

 

Stiles' heart jumps in his chest and bile fills his throat.

 

Hearing a giggle at the head of the table, he looks up. Derek's hand is brushing Jennifer's cheek, and he's drawing her in for a kiss. The pack and the guests look on happily.

 

Stiles looks down at his plate, at the food that Jennifer made, and his stomach sours.

 

No one notices when he gets up from the table, walks out of the house, starts his jeep, and leaves.

 

 

His dad doesn't come home or call that night.

* * *

 

 

The thing is, Stiles wishes he could just attribute his misgivings about Jennifer as jealousy, he really did. But ever since he had first seen her standing in front of the classroom in English, something had been off. Stiles hadn't officially had any training yet, but his spark allowed him to read the auras of others. The skill was something that came naturally, it was something that Stiles now realized he had been doing all his life.  Jennifer, like everyone else, gave off an aura, but hers was... muted. It was as if something was actively trying to contain it. If he squinted, though... if he squinted, Stiles could make out a just a slight glow of black radiating from her heart and on her skin.

 

No one believed him.

 

Stiles thought that Scott should have learned by now. Stiles had warned him about Matt, and Jackson, and  _Allison._ But, well, looked how each of those turned out. Scott never listened. No one ever listens to him.

 

And, somehow, Stiles knows he's going to be the one to pay for that this time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so excited by the response I got for this fic in just one day that I decide to pop out another chapter. Thanks, you guys are awesome!
> 
> I've decided, due to the way I want this fic to progress, that Stiles and the others are 15 yrs old. Don't worry though, mature stuff will come when they are older
> 
> Please don't forget to leave a comment and tell me how you feel. i'll do my best to respond to them all.
> 
> -Enjoy!

"I just don't understand how you guys don't feel it," Stiles was saying as he and Scott walked up the steps and into the school. It was actually an anomaly, driving to school with Scott. Usually the young werewolf caught a ride with Allison in the mornings.

 

Allison had been busy this morning.

 

For the past few months, Stiles had been trying to make the pack see what he did: Jennifer was evil. Stiles knew she was evil. Whenever he was in a room with her, the back of his throat dried out, and every breath felt like a fury of knives being thrust into his mouth.

 

A sure sign of evilness.

 

Stiles didn't get it though. After all they'd been through. the pack should have been more cautious. Because, seriously, how could you trust a woman who would jump into bed with a bleeding man with the visage of a serial killer? What kind of woman would do that? Not a normal one. And definitely not a human one. The pack, however, ignored this knowledge. For creatures of the night who were supposed to have super senses, they weren't very bright.

 

In fact, the only person in the pack that actually heeded Stiles' words was Peter, and he was rarely around. He was even more ostracized than Stiles, not even allowed near Jennifer on Pack nights, or any nights for that matter. And, no, Stiles didn't completely trust Peter, but the man had come through for them many times since his resurrection and held more knowledge than Derek could ever hope to.

 

Derek.... Derek was unbelievable. Since Jennifer's arrival the Alpha asshole had actually been smiling! The first time Stiles saw it, he thought Derek's face would crack, and had told him just that. Predictably, Derek's smile had disappeared and Stiles had been pushed against the wall. Despite Stiles' continued rough treatment at his hands, Derek had become a better Alpha. He actually interacted with his Betas, using tactics other than pain to reach them. The change was remarkable, but still...

 

"Are you even listening to me?" Stiles asks for the hundredth time, looking over at Scott who was in turn looking down at his phone.

 

"Huh? What? Yeah, dude." Scott says without looking up from his phone. "Allison isn't answering my texts."

 

Stiles rolls his eyes. Of course. Allison.

 

"Scott, you saw Allison less than four hours ago. Don't think I don't know that you slept over at her house." Stiles says.

 

Scott's expression grows dopey. "...Yeah..."

 

Stiles shudders in revulsion. "Well did Allison at least help you study for the English test today?" Stiles asks on a sigh.

 

Scott's brow draws down in confusion. "Dude, what test? We don't have a test today."

 

"Uh yeah we do," Stiles says, trying to jog Scott's memory. "Its been scheduled on the board for two weeks."

 

Scott seems to think deeply for a moment, then brightens suddenly. "Oh yeah, that test! Jennifer said she would give the pack an extension. We don't have to take it today."

 

Stiles frowns. "When was this decided?"

 

"Yesterday at the pack meeting.Jennifer decided that with the full moon coming up, we shouldn't have to stress about tests."

 

As Scott spoke, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac stroll up beside them. Erica immediately leans against the lockers while Issac drapes himself over Scott. Boyd looks at the two in amusement.

 

The Betas had also changed drastically, but for the better, too. Issac, for all his douchebaggery when he'd first been changed, was truly a lot more confident. When he had first became a werewolf, he was high on power, yet still so afraid that the strength he gained could be taken from him. He had gone a bit wild because of that, wanting to prove he was strong, wanting to make himself a predator. Now, though, he had confidence. The kind of confidence that came only from security and family and love.

 

Erica was still a bit of a wild card. She still dressed provocatively, will all her- eh hmmm- assets on display, but she was no longer determined to fuck her way through half the town to prove her worthiness. She had suddenly gone on an 'I-am-woman-hear-me-roar' phase for a few days. Then, one day she'd walked through the door of the pack house, to the middle of the den, and announced, "I am a person, a woman, and as such i do not have to objectify my self to feel worthy." Days afterwards, she was in a relationship with Boyd.

 

Boyd... his transformation came a bit more slowly than the others. He was an introvert, and unused to having people actually care about what he thought. To be instantly part of a pack of tactile wolves was a shock for him. Yet, little by little he emerged from his shell. He began participating in conversations without pondering if he was saying the right or acceptable thing. Boyd actually had a rather acerbic sense of humor. And while he didn't speak as loudly or as often as others, when he did, everyone knew to shut up and listen.

 

Stiles scratches his head. "But yesterday was Thursday, not a pack night."

 

Scott shrugs. "Jennifer called everyone last night. Maybe your phone was off?"

 

"Or maybe I didn't get a call at all." Stiles says, instantly knowing the truth.

 

Erica scoffs. "Oh please, this again? Your dad was there. Everyone was there except you."

 

Stiles remembers his dad getting a text in the middle of dinner. The man had picked his phone up- something that wasn't allowed at the table- smiled and jumped up, mumbling his apologies on the way out. Apparently something important had come up.

 

Stiles angrily retorts, "Yeah, that's just the way Jennifer likes it. Me out of the picture."

 

"Well can you blame her?" Lydia's voice comes from behind Stiles. "You're always accusing her of being evil. The woman shouldn't have to feel uncomfortable or threatened in her own home."

 

Overall, Lydia hadn't changed much. She was still a bitch on her best days, and a hateful one her worst. Her becoming a werewolf and being a part of the pack hadn't changed that. Jackson, however, was slightly better. Before becoming pack, he was determined to be the best at everything. For some reason, he felt that he had to prove himself to his adoptive parents. Stiles thought that, despite the fact that Jackson had been with them since he was a baby, he was still afraid the would give him back. Now, though, Jackson seems more relaxed. He knows that the only thing expected of him in the pack is to learn to control himself. The new Jackson that resulted from it was refreshing.

 

Stiles whips around at the words and comes face to face with both Lydia and Jackson. "You don't hones- wait, what? what do you mean her own home?"

 

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Jennifer officially moved into the pack house yesterday, Stilinski. Derek finally popped the question."

 

'Finally.' As if the two hadn't only been dating for a few months.

 

"Yeah," Isaac chimes in. "She going to be the Den Mother."

 

Stiles stomach drops to his feet.

___________________________________________________________________

Stiles walks to through his dayon autopilot until the time comes for English. Apparently, he still has to take the test. 

 

He is the first person to enter the room, and his eyes immediately find Jennifer. She stood in the front of the room, dressed light blues and greys- Hale pack colors. On her finger is a beautiful, jewel encrusted ring, one that looks old, like and heirloom. It glittered even in the under the horrible lights the school used. 

 

Stiles wants to rip it from her finger and maybe rip off the whole hand, too. The ring, even with an aura of purity around it, still cannot hide Jennifer's true aura. The blackness radiating from her heart and covering her skin hovers over the ring, waving in the air as if waiting for a sign of weakness. 

 

Her face holds an easy, practiced smile, but her eyes gloat, and Stiles is reminded from of the monster that continuously haunts his dreams. Her eyes meet his and her lips tip up a fraction in a smirk. "Stiles," she purrs out, "Have you heard the news?"

 

Stiles stiffens. 'You mean the news that you're apparently an interloping bitch? Oh, I've heard it, and I'm going to make sure it doesn't happen. You an count on that, Jennifer." There was no way he was going to leave the fate of his pack and town to her.

 

Jennifer's eyes become glacial and her mouth tightens. Fury suffuses her face before her body suddenly relaxes and her smile returns just as students begin trickling into the room. "I hope you're prepared for the test, Mr. Stilinski. Good luck."

 

Shortly after the bell rings, Jennifer hands out the exams. When Stiles' test gets to him, he already has his pencil in hand, determined to ace the shit out of it. He huffs out a breath, bracing himself, then looks down.

 

The test is anything but normal. Instead of words, there are strange symbols and runes covering the white sheet. The symbols danced on the page, before morphing into actual words. Well, one word:

 

Mine.

 

It was repeated over and over.

 

Mine.Mine.Mine.Mine.They will be MINE.They ARE MINE. FOREVER. The words were repeated over and over again until they began to echo inside of his head. Stiles looked around him to see if anyone else was experiencing what he was, but only saw heads bent over tests and pencils scribbling. He looked back down at his test, squinting, only to have the words jump off the page and fly into his face. They swirl around his head, taking on a life and voice of their own as they chant, "Mine. Mine. Forever mine."

 

Stiles jumps from his chair as the words suck the air from his lungs. He bolts out of the classroom, having just enough time the glimpse the smirk on Ms. Blake's face before he's out the door and running out of the school.

______________________________________________________________________

Stiles is pulling up to the Pack House before he even registers where he is. He knows Derek is there. Even with all the improvements the pack was going through, Derek still didn't have a job.

 

Stiles doesn't bother to knock. He simply walks in and slams the door behind him. "Derek!" he yells. "I know you're in here!"

 

Seconds later, Derek appears, his eyes flash Alpha red. "Why are you here?" He asks, staring Stiles down.

 

Stiles swallows tightly, a small shiver of fear rolling down his spine. "Y- you're marrying her?"

 

Derek's face hardens. "I'm mating her."

 

Pain slices through Stiles at those three words. Marrying- a marriage could be broken, but a mating was final. A mating was truly 'til death do us part. "Derek, you've know her for a few months! Why would you marry her? What is it about her that makes you- all of you so blind to what she really is? How can you n-"

 

Stiles' words are cut off as a hand suddenly wraps around his neck. "I can see that Jennifer was right," Derek is saying as he leans in close. "I should have taught you your place a long time ago. I've been too lenient with you, Stiles. I am the Alpha. I do not answer to little human omegas." His hand grows tighter with each word.

 

Stiles struggles for breath. "Omega?"

 

"Yes, Omega. Stiles, you are the only one here who has nothing to offer this pack. And, yet you still have the audacity to question me about my actions. Jennifer i-"

 

"Jennifer! How did Jennifer become such an expert on how werewolf pack should be run? Why does that bitch have an-" Stiles gurgles when Derek's hand tightens. Dark spots swim in his eyes

 

"That is the last time you speak her name, Stiles. You will show your Alpha Mate the proper respect. This little crush you have in me isn't cute anymore. It's pathetic. And its beginning to make Jennifer uncomfortable, especially when you moon at me from across the room." He pauses to take deep breath. "You need to leave Stiles. Don't come back here until I tell you to." With that, he dropped unclenched the had around Stiles' throat and walked off.

 

Stiles dosn't waste time leaving.

___________________________________________________

When he arrives home, his dad's cruiser isn't in the drive way. He notices, though, that the lights in the living room is on. He cuts the engine, gets out and walks to the door. It turns easily in his hand. Stiles slowly opens the door, hand reaching for the bat they always keep right beside it. The living room is empty, so he creeps toward the kitchen, raising the bat as he walks. Just as he is about to round the corner, the kitchen light flicks on.

 

Jennifer Blake stands there with a smirk.

 

Stiles rears back in surprise. "How did you get in here? I took precautions ag-"

 

"The mountain ash, you mean? You should know something about magic Stiles: if its one thing that magic recognizes, its ownership. You do not own this house, your father does. He invited me in. Your little mountain ash barrier is rendered null and void. I'm here now, and there's nothing you can do about it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will tell us what Allison was doing at the beginning of this one. Also, major drama, poor Stiles.
> 
> Please don't forget to kudos and/or comment. Constructive criticism is always welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will tell you where Jennifer came from and why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I had ACT last Wednesday and my teachers killed me everyday after that. So, I gift you with this.  
> -Enjoy

The night the explosion shook Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski wasn't the only one who felt it.

 

Allison Argent felt it, too. Which made sense considering she was the one who caused it.

 

Over the past year, Allison had lost so much. An aunt, a mother, and a grandfather, all gone within months of one another. Allison was pissed off to say the least. It didn't matter to her that the people she lost had basically died by their own hands. All that mattered to Allison was that they were gone, and that she wanted them back.

 

And that got her thinking... If Peter Hale could come back from the dead, why couldn't three humans who wouldn't even be dead if it weren't for the events he had set in motion? So, Allison began to research. Her family had several texts on supernatural feats and creatures, and it wasn't long until Allison found something that seemed to fit her purposes. After searching through one of the few books that was written in English, Allison found an entry labeled:   _ **Contracted**_ _**Exchange.**_ At first Allison was confused; the title sounded like something from one of those late night cartoons that she used to glance over. As she read it though, her confusion quickly turned to excitement. It seemed perfect.  


 

_**To obtain what you seek, a contract must be invoked. There is no price, simply an exchange of one object for another of substantial value. This renders the contract mutually beneficial.** _

_**To enter this contract is to invite a Darach into your life. As creatures of vengeance, the Darach thirst for power, and will give anything for obtain it.** _

_**The caster must be warned that the Darach, while loyal to the contract, are manipulative and will fulfill the contract by any means necessary.** _

_**To cast the contract requires the following:** _

_*** Agate- for protection against maleficent** _ **_presence_ **

_***Garnet- Devotion** _

_*** Onyx- negativity repellant** _

_*** Peridot- to strengthen life** _

_***Umber Candle- to conjure material whether inanimate or animate** _

_*** Obsidian Candle- _ **to repel negativity and induce trance**_** _

_*** Light Coral Candle- for restoration and rejuvenation** _

_*** Magenta Candle- to draw energy into the ritual** _

_*** Violet Candle- representation of your desires** _

_*** Because purity is always desired for** _ **_guaranteed results and protection, casting salt must be                                                                           used as_ ** **_barrier between the caster and the spirits and energies that will be drawn to the                                                                               ritual._ **

**_Once the aforementioned materials are gathered, they must be assembled in standard casting positions in order to provide familiarity- and therefore confidence- as well as balance. As always, a true spell caster must have a clear, uncorrupted mind and heart._ **

**_To completion of the ritual requires the following chant:_ **

**_Quod semel meum iam perditur._ **

**_Quicquid ego sumptus repeteret._ **

**_Appellent ad me et_ **

**_Ancilla unum prae omnibus._ **

**_Quo pacto enim erunt ligata._ **

**_Donec amissum fuerit inventum meum._ **

**_Rursumque mutabitur hostia_ **

**_Ad sustentationem vitae._ **

**** **_Hoc est verbum meum, et ego ad ligare_ **

**_Ipse quoque ac specie._ **

 

Allison gathered most of the materials. No one seemed for carry black candles and agate and onyx were extremely unpopular stones. Despite this, she decided to complete the ritual anyway. On the night of the last Alpha attack, she traveled the Argent cemetery plot. She assembled the materials, realizing that, in her excitement to gather everything, she had forgotten to translate the latin written ritual. She decided she was too close to her goal to stop. Blowing out a breath, lit the candles, opened the book and began to chant.

 

The text said repeated chants may be needed, so Allison repeated herself until she began to feel the effects of the casting. Coldness seeped into her bones until they, along with her skin, felt brittle. She could feel her once full, curly hair becoming dry and wilted. The air suddenly became thick and unbreathable, leaving Allison gasping for breath. Her heart began pounding so hard she was sure it would burst from her chest and break her ribs along with it. Her mouth opened in a silent cry as black spots appeared before her eyes. Then, suddenly, as soon as it all began, it stopped. Allison drew in gulps of oxygen.

 

Tears of frustration filled her eyes. All that work! All the suffering she did! Did no one care? In her rage, she began tearing at the casting materials, kicking and stomping until the entire thing was destroyed. She stood, tears streaming down her face and heaving when something darted from the shadows and grabbed her shoulder. Allison whirled around and came face to face with a hideous creature. It hissed in her face, blowing breath smelling of death into her nose.

 

"Tell me, do you know what happens when humans dabble in the craft?" The creature hissed out. "A human, without a bit of magic within her. Oh you must be desperate indeed to have summoned me."

 

Allison shuddered as her eyes met the creatures. "W-what are you doing here? Where is the contract?" She asked.

 

The creature threw back its head and laughed. "Silly human. I _am_ the contract. State your desires so that I may fulfill mine."

 

"I-I ... my family. I want my family back. I've lost everyone an- and I just want them back! Its not fair that I had to lose them!"

 

The creature purred. "Your emotions... hmmm... such an addicting blend of anguish and vengeance. Tell me, human, what do you offer me in return?"

 

Allison scrambled for her discarded bag. "I have money," she says, pulling it out. "I can gi-"

 

"Foolish girl!" the creature snarled. "I have no need of money! I want power. Now  _what_ will you give me?"

 

Allison cowered away from the creature's anger. She wracked her brain for ideas, growing more and more frantic before- "W-Werewolves. There's a pack of them in Beacon Hills!"

 

The creature tilted its head and closed its eyes. It breathed deeply for a couple of seconds before stiffening. Its hands, suddenly talon-like dig into Allison's shoulders. "What else?" The creature says urgently, "What else is here? It tastes like... _Spark."_

  

Allison remembers- barely- Deaton mentioning a spark, and for some reason Stiles flashes in her mind. She can't connect the dots though, and before thinking she screams "You can have it! You can have the spark!"

 

"I can have him?"

 

"As long as you give me my family, you can have anything here."

  

The creature stretches its gnarled lips into a smile. "Let's shake on it."

  

After a moments hesitation, Allison reaches and joins her hand with the creature's. The resulting explosion knocks her unconscious.

 

* * *

 

When Allison wakes, she is not alone. She is surrounded by her once deceased family. Aunt Kate is on the left, her mom is on the right, and Grandpa Gerard between them. She expected to feel an overwhelming sense of wholeness when she saw them again. Instead, when she looks into their eyes, she can only recognize a hunger, and she knows its not for food.

 

* * *

 

 

In the months that follow, Allison manages to find a cheap apartment to house her resurrected family. While she does want to be with them all the time, she knows she can't just parade previously dead hunters through Beacon Hills. 

  

Especially not with Jennifer Blake's entrance into her life.

 

Allison thought, due to the nature of the contract, Jennifer would conduct her business from the shadows. But no, she had made herself a permanent fixture. In just a few short months she had bewitched Derek and his pack completely. Allison was apprehensive, but she couldn't see anything wrong with Jennifer's actions. Instead of wrecking havoc and bringing death, Jennifer seemed to be creating a family. Everything was... _better_ with her around. Everyone was thriving.

  

Except Stiles. Allison watched day after day as Stiles was pushed out of the pack. At first she hadn't understood why Jennifer was being so harsh. One day when  she was alone with Jennifer she asked: "Why are you pushing Stiles away?"

  

Jennifer had smirked with her newly constructed lips. "He is my spark."

  

Allson has frowned, "What does that mean? Why are you toying with Stiles- with the pack?"

  

Jennifer's smile had grown. "A werewolf pack offers long term devotion. A being could feed off of that for  _decades._ And, as for the spark, Everyday the scent of misery and rejection becomes heavier and heavier around him... so sweet. Do you have any idea what suffering does to the soul? Why, soon he'll be ready for consumption."

  

"Consumption?" Allison had asked nervously.

  

Jennifer chuckled then. "I'm going to devour him- body, soul. spark, and all."

 

Allison had barely made it to the bathroom before she emptied her stomach.

 

* * *

  

It wasn't that Allison didn't feel guilty, because she definitely did. She had honestly liked Stiles... but she _loved_ her family. She didn't think she could live without them. 

  

And everyone, apparently, could live without Stiles. Under Jennifer's guide, everyone was slowly beginning to dismiss him- even Scott- Even his own father! So maybe what was happening wasn't do bad after all. Maybe it was for the best.

 

Maybe, if the others cared more, she would feel guilter.

 

But the fact was: they didn't, and neither did she.

 

 

 

__

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kinda short, but I had to give you guys something. Thanks for being patient!
> 
> I would like to comment that though wicca and occult practices intrigue me, I am in no way an expert. The steps and material featured in this work should not be taken seriously. Inappropriate and ametuer practicing of such rituals may result in harm. Practice safely
> 
> This is Allison's chant in English:
> 
> "What was once mine has now been lost.  
> I seek to recover it whatever the cost.  
> And so to me I do call  
> The one handmaiden, superior to them all.  
> By contract we shall be bound.  
> Until my lost becomes my found.  
> And in return I shall exchange a sacrifice,  
> In order to sustain her life.  
> This is my word, and to I do bind  
> Myself and also she in kind."
> 
>  
> 
> BTW: Google translate was used for this, and we all know how accurate that can be- especially if you don't know the language.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.  
> -Enjoy!

**Previously:**

 

_When he arrives home, his dad's cruiser isn't in the drive way. He notices, though, that the lights in the living room is on. He cuts the engine, gets out and walks to the door. It turns easily in his hand. Stiles slowly opens the door, hand reaching for the bat they always keep right beside it. The living room is empty, so he creeps toward the kitchen, raising the bat as he walks. Just as he is about to round the corner, the kitchen light flicks on._

 

_Jennifer Blake stands there with a smirk._

 

_Stiles rears back in surprise. "How did you get in here? I took precautions ag-"_

 

_"The mountain ash, you mean? You should know something about magic Stiles: if its one thing that magic recognizes, its ownership. You do not own this house, your father does. He invited me in. Your little mountain ash barrier is rendered null and void. I'm here now, and there's nothing you can do about it."_

 

 

Stiles felt his blood run cold. She. Was. In. His. House. _Why_ was she in his house?

 

“What are you doing in here, Jennifer?” Stiles asked through gritted teeth.

 

She slowly smiled, and Stiles could feel her black aura around her expanding with her mouth. She began to walk closer to him, her body beginning to morph with each step. Stiles could see small changes happening in her appearance- her eyes became small and sunken, her mouth twisted and disfigured, her skin as pale as marble. She opened her mouth in a snarl, and the smell of rank death permeated the air. The blackness of her aura grew darker and outward until it filled the room and sucked the air right from Stiles' lungs. He coughed, needing air but not wanting to breathe in Jennifer's aura. He tried moving away, tried to leave the room, but something was keeping him there. Feeling a pinching sensation on his wrists and ankles, he looked down.

 

Jennifer's aura had extended into tentacle like limbs, the blackness becoming solid, and wrapped around Stiles' joints. He struggled in their hold, trying to break free.

 

Jennifer laughed. “ Poor little untrained Spark. All this raw energy and no control over it. Why, you're practically begging for this to happen. You should _thank_ me.”

 

“Fuck you,” Stiles said. “Let me go! Let me go now!”

 

Jennifer only snickered. The tentacles tightened around him. “Come, little Spark,” she purred, “Let me consume you.”

 

Against his will, Stiles' body began moving toward Jennifer. The movement stopped about four feet from her and Stiles was lifted into the air. Two more tentacles rose, one joining the others in subduing Stiles around his waist. The other danced in the air in front of his face for a moment before studdenly becoming rigid and thrusting toward Stiles' chest. Before the blackness could touch him though, his own aura, pure and glowing white, flared up. The tentacle pushed back, only to come back in harsh, repeated strikes- like a snake. Each strike felt like a physical blow, and soon, just as he would in a real fight, Stiles and his aura were cracking.

 

The blackness began carving its way into his body, toward his heart. Stiles cringed in pain, but found unable to make a noise. His bonds tightened even more, until he could hear and feel his bones creaking. He breathed harshly, knowing there was no way for him to get away. His mouth closes on a whimper and his eyes filled with tears as he became resigned to his fate.

 

Then, his eyes opened widely as the blackness touched him where he was the most pure- his heart. Just like that, in the course of a second, Jennifer was knocked off of her feet by a bright, white force feild. She slammed into the upper cabinets; Stiles was dropped to the floor, spraining his ankle as his feet caught his sudden weight. He steadied himself against the counter and kept his eyes on Jennifer's unmoving body. He watched as her wounds began healing. The neck ben Not trusting her, his hands grabbed for the cast iron skillet sitting on the counter. Just as his fingers closed around the handle, Jennifer, now fully healed, lunged for him. Without thinking, Stiles swung the skillet, clipping her on the side of her head. The blow made her fall to the floor, stunned. She sat thet way for a while, letting the wounds heal again. Her eyes glowed and a growl began in her chest. She crouched offensively-

 

Then, in a matter of seconds, she had reverted to her human form and begun crying almost hysterically. “P-please, stop it. I'mm sorry for whatever I did, b-but please don't hit me anymore!” Jennifer sobbed loudly.

 

Stiles paused in confusion. The woman had just been trying to _consume_ him! He watched in shock as she brought up a clawed hand and ripped a gash into her forehead; she brought both hands up to her hair, messing it, then began ripping at her clothes.

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles practically screamed at her.

 

Jennifer paused to give Stiles a smirk, then began crying even harder. “N-no, please! Please someone help me!” She pushed herself until she was pressed into the lower cabinets. Stiles watched as she drew in a deep breath and yelled, “Derek!”- just as the werewolf burst through the window.

 

The skillet dropped from Stiles' shock- numbed hands.

 

Derek was already wolfed out. He took only the barest second to take in the scene before he was charging for Stiles. 

 

Stiles clamped down on the instinct to run, knowing it would get him killed for sure. “D-der-rek, just- just calm down for a second. Okay? Let me explain,” Stiles lifted his hand in a placating gesture, only to have Derek's claws rake through the flesh of his arm. He cried out as blood immediately began to flow.

 

At the smell of blood, Derek howled. Stiles watched as foam filled his mouth and his eyes began rolling. Stiles took a deep breath, preparing to scream, when Jennifer's voice pierced the air.

 

“Derek, I need you,” she said in a sobbing pitiful voice. Derek was immediately at her side, gathering her in his arms and held her close.

 

Stiles felt anger flare up in his body. “Are you kidding me right now? Are you fuc-”

 

Derek's roar shook the house. Stiles shut up and clutched his bleeding wound to his chest. He watched, heartbroken, as Derek murmured soothing word to the now sniffling Jennifer. If he wasn't afraid of moving, Stiles would have left them there.

 

It was only minutes later when the rest of the pack- including Melissa, Chris, and Stiles' dad- walked into the kitchen. Stiles watched as he was barely spared a glance before the pack surrounded Derek and Jennifer. Even Scott. Even Stiles' _dad._ His heart finally shattered. Stiles watched as they spoke in hushed tones, only catching snippets of the conversation. '...no...' 'How...' 'can't kill him, he's human.' (Thanks Chris.) The murmurings went on until Jennifer spoke up. 

 

“ No matter what he did,” she said in a low, shaky voice, “I can't allow you guys to kill him. You grew up with him, and I couldn't bear it if you had his murder on your conscience. I-”

 

“It wouldn't be murder,” Chris said, “By werewolf law, it would be _justice._ ” 

 

“But he isn't a werewolf. We have to forgive him for what he's done. It's the onl-”

 

At that point, I was beyond pissed. “Forgive me for what  _I've_ done? I haven't done anything wrong! Why can't y-”

 

“You need to be quiet, Stiles.” The sheriff said. “Even if you can't be killed, Jennifer can still press charges, and I would be behind her one hundred percent.”

 

Stiles drew back in shock. “Dad-”

 

“Don't call me that!” the sheriff practically snarled. “You are no son of mine.”

 

Stiles took a step back, because that,  _that_ hurt wore than anything Jennifer could have done to him. Before thinking, he said the words he knew could hurt his dad more than anything. “Mom would have believed me.” He covered his mouth immediately after, feeling ashamed for using his mother like that-- even if it was true.

 

But the sheriff only shook his head. “Your mothered would be ashamed if she could see you now.” He reached out and grabbed Melissa's hand. “You need to leave, Stiles, now.”

 

“Leave? What do you mean leave?”

 

“We mean leave, and don't come back. Ever. This is the only and the last chance I'm giving you. Leave.” Derek spoke up.

 

“You aren't wanted here,” Isaac toned in from his place curled up next to Jennifer.

 

“And lets be honest, Stilinski,” Jackson said, “You never were.”

 

Stiles looked at Scott. “Scott...”

 

The uneven jawed boy looked up and met Stiles' eyes. “Just leave, Stiles”

 

Stiles looked around the room, taking in the assembled people. All of them: Scott, Jackson, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Lydia, and Allison- his friends, his  _pack_ , took upa united front against him.

 

Stiles broke. “Leave? Leave for this- this  _bitch?_ God, do you guys even hear yourselves? What do you even know about her? She just walks in one day- not even 24 hours after the Alpha pack- and jumps into bed with a bloody, injured man. Do you honestly mean to tell me that just because this bitch is fucking Derek, you're all blind to what she really is? It's nice that all it takes is a slu-”

 

Derek was on his feet quickly, handing Jennifer over to Chris. He stalked toward Stiles. “That was your chance. I  _gave_ you a chance. You refused to take it. You repeatedly insulted my mate, and for these infractions I demand justice. I demand a  _**Justice Run** _ .”

 

 

 

Before he knew it, Stiles found himself stuffed in the back of his da--  _ the  _ _sheriff's_ cruiser. They drove to the edge of the preserve, followed by three other cars filled with the others.

 

The ride there had been filled with strained silence between until Stiles finally asked. “How could you do this to me. You're supposed to be my father.”

 

The sheriff was silent for a while. “I- I tried my best with you, Stiles. I tried so hard. I loved you, even through the lying and sneaking around. A-and when I found out about the werewolves, I understood... I understood why you would want to keep it a secret. I understood why you would want to keep a family like that to yourself. I even understood your crush on Derek. But, Stiles, you took things too far. I had to watch you draw away from everyone who tried to love you- all because of jealousy. I watched you behave rudely, almost aggressively toward a woman who wanted nothing more than to help you. And tonight... what you did tonight... Stiles I can barely stand to look at you. God, if Derek had demanded your life, he would have been perfectly justified.”

 

“Jennifer is evil.” Stiles said through gritted teeth. He couldn't believe that his father, the man that had raised him, didn't know him better than this. To think that he actually thought this was _jealousy._ “I've been dreaming of her- in her true form- for months. Whenever I'm around her, I'm suffocated by her aura. God, I'm surrounded by werewolves, but I'm the only one who can smell the death rising from her pores? How is it that-”

 

“Stiles,” the sheriff swallowed tightly. “These things... these things you keep talking about, you're the only one who sees these things. Not even Lydia- who is a banshee- sees these things. None of the actual werewolves see these things. Not even the hunters- experts in the supernatural- notice these things. And all of them are much more credible than you.”

 

Stiles frowned in confusion. “Lydia's a ... banshee?”

 

The sheriff sighed. “You see, you don't even know what's been happening in the pack! You distanced yourself to the point that you barely even  _ speak _ to them. If you-”

 

“I didn't leave the pack! I was forced from it! I was forced into the position of Omega, nad you let it happen! You _let_ Jennifer do th-”

 

“Here we go again. There's no reasoning with you.” the sheriff shook his head. “What you did... what you did was _wrong._ You attacked and brutalized a woman in our h-”

 

“What was she doing there in the first place? Why was she _inside_ our home?”

 

“I invited her.”

 

“Why.” Stiles asked shortly.

 

The sheriff sighed. “I'm selling the house. Jennifer was coming to help me decide what I should keep and bring when we left.”

 

“Sell... sell the house? Sell the house and go where?” Stiles asked shakily. Sell the house? Decide what to take? What about the rest of his mom's things?

 

“Melissa and I decided to get married. We've known one another for years and have been dating these past months. In fact it was Jennifer who convinced us to take this next step.”

 

“You were going to sell the house and get married without telling me?” Stiles asked unelievingly.

 

“The pack knew.”

 

 

 

 

When they finally reached the preserve, Stiles was pulled from the car and escorted to the edge of the woods. His da- the sheriff stepped back from him after that, leaving him standing in the cold darkness as the other cars pulled up. The werewolves stepped out of the vehicle one by one, Derek leading them all. Once they had all lined up in front of Stiles, Lydia walked forward holding and old, age-browned book in her hands. 

 

“The _**Justice Run**_ is an ancient, respected ritual in which werewolf clans exacted revenge on those who broke pack law. During the run, the wolves of the pack would hunt the perpetrator until due revenge had been exacted. The punished wolf would then be exiled from the pack. Normally, if Stiles were a wolf, there would be no allowances made, but, obviously, he is not a wolf. As such, he will be give a ten minute head start. Use that time wisely.” She closed the book with a snap.

 

The werewolves in front of him crouched, readying themselves for a chase. Stiles looked around, panicked. “What am I supposed to do?” He yelled.

 

For the first time that night, Allison spoke. “Run.”

 

A howl pierced the night.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles ran faster than he ever had before, but those ten minutes felt like two. He tripped his way through the woods, ankle aching with each step and arm still bleeding. His lungs felt like they would fall of at any moment.

 

He felt it when the wolves began the chase. The forest became eerily quiet and the sound of Stiles' labored breathing became louder. His heart pounded like a drum, so loud that even he could hear it. Despite his head start, he didn't dare slow down. He knew it would only a take a minute for the wolves to cover his distance. Stiles fought tried to push himself harder, but was forced to slow down instead when a stitch developed in his side. Just as he began to drag his feet, he felt the first nip at his heel. Then another on his shoulder. Then another at his elbow. Claws raked down his back. The pain ripped through Stiles. Black spots danced before his eyes. He struggled to run faster, but his body, already weak from blood lost, gave out. He succumbed to unconsciousness with the feeling of hot, moist breath at the back of his neck.

 

 

 

It was hours before Stiles woke. His body was covered in heavy bandages and his ankle in a splint. He was no longer in the forest, but laid out on a cold slab of metal. The smell of antiseptic immediately made him think he was in a hospital, but there was an underlying scent of wet animal.

 

_ Deaton's then. _

 

Just as the thought crossed his mind, the vet walked into the room. “Stiles,” he said, as calm as ever, “I'm happy you're awake. How are you feeling?”

 

Stiles swallowed tightly. “Like I was some wolf's chewtoy.”

 

“Well... yes. Do you remember what happened?”

 

“Justice run. D-did you call my dad?” Stiles stuttered out.

 

There was a beat of silence. “Sheriff Stilinski informed me that he had no son.”

 

Stiles closed his eyes against the tears. “Then how did I get here?”

 

“Mr. Hale carried you here from the forest, He thought it best that he left before you woke and became frightened at the sight of him.”

 

_ Mr. Hale? Derek? _

 

“Peter,” Deaton said, as if reading Stiles' mind. “Now, you said _**Justice Run**_. Do you know what that means?”

 

“I-It means that I no longer have a home... or a family.”

 

Deaton smiled slightly. “I'll be happy to inform you that neither of those are true. If you let me, Stiles, I can guide you to all of that and more.”

 

Deaton moved to open a cabinet across the room. He opened the cabinet and pulled out a locked, metal box. After opening the box he reached inside and brought out a bracelet of crystals, an old, leather bound journal, and a white gold ring. He arranged the items on the table next to Stiles then looked up.

 

“Let me tell you about your mother and her family.”

 

Hours later, Stiles was on a plane to Ireland. To a grandfather his mother hadn't spoke to since years before he died. To a heritage his mother had left behind.

 

To a heritage that was all he had left.

 

He would embrace it.

 

 

 

 

**Allison's Point of View- Beginning That Morning.**

 

Somehow, she had managed to ditch Scott long enough to meet with Jennifer. She had told him to get a ride with Stiles, knowing it was probably the last time he would see the spastic boy. She felt a sliver of guilt at that thought.

 

That sliver wasn't enough.

 

She met Jennifer at a cafe in the neighboring town. The place was big, connected to a bookstore, which provided just enough noise for them not to be overheard. They had walked up to the counter, ordered coffee, and sat down at a table as if they were normal. As if they hadn't come here to discuss a murder.

 

“So,” Jennifer said. “How's your family? Did your mom find a cure for her decomposing flesh yet? How about Kate and Gerard? Are they still going at it like rabbits?”

 

Okay, so maybe her family's resurrection hadn't gone exactly as planned. Maybe her mother was decomposing all over the furniture. And maybe her Aunt and Uncle were participating in so incestuous activities. But that didn't give the bitch the right to comment on it.

 

“Cut the shit, Jennifer. Why are we here?”

 

Jennifer smiled at her from across the table. “No small talk, then. Oh well, I'll cut to the chase.” She sipped her coffee. “Today.”

 

Allison's brow furrowed in confusion. “What about today?”

 

“Today I will fulfill our contract. The spark shall be mine.” Jennifer said, satisfaction ripe in her voice.

 

Allison's eyes widened. “Whe.. but... wher- _How?”_

 

Jennifer's mocking eyes grew cold.“The how is not for you to question. As stated by our agreement, the contract is to be fulfilled by any means necessary. Don't worry your pretty little head with details.”

 

 

 

 

 

When Allison walked into the Stilinski household, she almost laughed at the sight. Jennifer lay in Derek's arms, playing the damsel. She listened silently as Jennifer relayed a tale of assault and humiliation. She watched as she faked modesty and pretended to 'forgive' Stiles. She listened at the rest of the pack condemned Stiles.

 

Stiles. The boy stood on the opposite side of the room clutching a bleeding arm to his chest. The look in his eyes was heartbreaking.

 

She had to turn away to avoid spilling the truth.

 

The _**Justice Run**_ nearly killed her. She listened to Lydia calmly explain the concept. Calmly enact a ritual that could very well kill the boy.

 

She could only look at him when he questioned his fate. Look at him and offer one word of advice. “ _ **Run.**_ ”

 

Her conscience was clear.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait guys, but here's what's been going on in my life:  
> \- we moved, so unpacking and all that jazz  
> \- college finally replied 'yes' to my early admission  
> \- freaking AP tests--- 3 of them this years!
> 
> So, I spent like two hours tonight trying to make this good for you. Just a warning, I did NOT proofread this. Tell me if you find any major mistakes.
> 
> Enjoy

Stiles' first steps onto Irish soil were uneventful. The town of Glynesdil was only slightly bigger than Beacon Hills. As small as the town was, Stiles was surprised they even had an airport. Like Beacon Hills, the town was surrounded with thick forest. Considering what Deaton had told him of his mother's heritage, Stiles wasn't surprised. The Supernatural thrived on nature.

 

The town itself was almost exactly like Beacon Hills in spirit. People littered the sidewalks and children played in the pars. _It was a tight-knit community,_ Stiles noted as he walked through the streets toward his Grandfather's home. People stopped to stare as he passed, some pulling their children close to him. Unable to get his things before he was run out of town, Stiles was forced to exchange his bloodied ones for a pair of Deaton's. People eyed the loose, ill-fitting clothing with suspicion. Stiles ignored them, choosing instead to concentrate on his journey. A journey that was not as daunting as it should have been. In less than seventy-two hours, his wounds had healed over. They had scarred, grotesque and pale, shiny white. He was healed, but he was _marked._

 

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Stiles continued walking. Even from blocks away, Stiles could see his grandfather home. While the other houses in the town were far from poverty ridden, they seemed almost like huts in the shadow of the large O'Brien manor. The house was compiled of thousands of tan bricks. It was surrounded in the lushest greenery Stiles had ever seen. The large shrub figurines reached into the air, nearly surpassing the height of the manor. Even the flowers were bright and bloomed.

 

It was winter.

 

Stiles grinned and quickened his steps. Something inside of him tugged toward the manor, as if leading him somewhere. Somewhere important. Somewhere like home.

 

* * *

 

Stiles sat slumped at the large, wrought iron gate. He was annoyed. For three hours he'd stood out there. There was no call box. There were no handles, in fact, the gate seemed to be seamless with no way to open. It was tall, dark and imposing. He had tried yelling for help. No answer. He had tried to climb the gate. No traction. He had waited. No one showed.

 

By the time Stiles had tired himself out, his throat was raw, his voice hoarse, his hands scraped, his muscles sore, and his heart... broken. Because this, this felt a lot like no one wanted him here. Just like no one had wanted him _there._ So Stiles had stopped trying. Never let it be said that he didn't learn his lesson. Why should he try so hard to help someone, to put his life on the line for people, only for them to use and literally abuse him? Why should he allow himself to be taken advantage of? 

 

Then Stiles had got to thinking. This fucktard, his _grandfather,_ didn't even know him. He didn't know the slightest thing about him. So who was this old fart to reject him already? The answer: he was _no one_ to Stiles just yet. 

 

Stiles stood as his anger mounted. He turned to face the gate, his hands clenched at his sides. He glared. Despite his determination just moments ago, Stiles was still at a loss on how too open the gate; so, he decided to do what he did best- talk and wildly gesticulate.

 

“You know what, you stupid little gate? Yeah, that's right, I said little. I've had the shittiest year in the history of ever. I've been hurt both emotionally and physically by people I love. And you, with your stupid height and thickness- which, I'm pretty sure you're trying to compensate for something- have to nerve to tell me however silently, that I'm not welcome? Well, guess what? I'm not taking no for an answer! You're going to shut up with your silent judging and _**open, now!**_ ”

 

On the last words, he swung his hand in a wide arch. Right before Stiles' eyes, the gate shuddered before suddenly exploded into millions of tiny fragments. He watched in awe as the particles rained around him and began to disintegrate.  _ Wow,  _ he thought, shocked. He looked down at his hands , turning them back and forth.  _ D-did I do t-that? Cuz' if I did, that was cool as f-  _

 

“Well, you don't do anything half-assed now do you?”

 

Stiles jerked his gaze up to the space the gate once occupied. There stood a man, only slightly taller than Stiles' own 5'8”. While Stiles instinctively knew this was his grandfather, for a second, Stiles imagined he was looking into a mirror that showed the future. Grandpa O'Brien looked like and older, wiser him. They had the same amber eyes, the same upturned nose and wide mouth. Even their moles lined up! The only major difference was that Grandpa O'Brien wore his white hair long. Which, really? That was just a bit too Malfoy-esque.

 

“Though your method was a bit crude, I have to applaud you on your time. Many of us take far longer than that to gain entrance. So, bravo, but, of course you'll have to reconstruct this entire gate, you know. I'm not going to do it for you.” With that, the man sniffed and spun on his heel.

 

Stiles was left watching his back as he walked away. He stepped over the, er, threshold and turned to face the empty space. “Reconstruct? How the hell is that supposed to happen?” Stiles waved his hands toward the gate space. “ _Build-a-gate-sesame!_ No? Okay then.How about _Gateus Buildeus!_ No again? _Bibbidi Bibbidi Boo?”_ Each suggestion was accompanied by waving hands.

 

Stiles sighed, annoyed. “What? Am I supposed to wait for a freaking gate to fall out of the sky? Is that it? Sit here for another couple of hours and wish with all my might until something happens?” Stiles kicked at the ground. “I can imagine how it'd look, too. No doubt it would be hot pink just to spite me. Hot pink and _sparkly_. Only, this one would actually have an opening, ya know, so people would actually be able to _**enter through the damn gate!**_ Yeah. That's exac- _eeeeeek!”_

 

Stiles' rant was cut off by the sudden quaking of the earth as something actually fell from the sky and landed heavily in front of him. In the quake, Stiles lost his footing and fell on to his bottom, bruising his tailbone. Wincing and rubbing his lower back, he raised hesitant eyes to the form in front of him.

 

“Well, shit.” Stiles cursed and flopped to his back. Because, before him, standing just as tall and imposing as the one before it, was a hot pink gate. It sparkled with the light of the sun, making it seem even brighter. In the very center of it was a key hole. “Well, at least you open.”

 

 

 

The grounds surrounding the manor were vast and beautiful- even more so close up. Everything was in full bloom and the many flowers left a fresh, fragrant scent in the air. Stiles felt as if he had stepped into a nature documentary, because, despite the noise he and the gate must have made, the front of the manor was _covered_ in wildlife. Deer, bunnies, fox, and butterflies were only a few of the species Stiles observed. Walking through them toward the manor, Stiles had to fight the urge to break into song. _Colors of the Wind_ seemed appropriate.

 

The manor itself was beautiful. There were dozens of windows- most of them were open, short curtains billowing in the wind. It wasn't until Stiles got closer that he noticed the small ring of purple flowers surrounded by two rings of mountain ash circling the manor. Swallowing, Stiles lifted his foot ad stepped over the line. Something inside him burst and Stile found himself feeling simultaneously empty and full. He dropped to his knees, only to be caught up in two strong arms.

 

“Welcome home, Genim.” Grandpa O'Brien whispered in his ears. “Ta an macar fola ar ais”

 

“Okay, that's kinda creepy,” Stiles gasped out as his grandpa began leading him through the doors.. “ 'The son has returned to the blood?' Sounds kinda demonic if you ask me. Oh, look. These doors actually open.”

 

“You know Latin?” His grandfather's tone was colored with surprise.

 

“Scor ag iarraidh a sheachaint ar an gceist.” _Stop trying to avoid the question._

 

“You have remained in touch with your mother's culture?” Both surprise and pride was in his tone.

 

“How else could I remain close to her?” Stiles asked. He could it rising in him, the panicky feeling he always got when speaking about him mother.

 

Finally, Grandpa O'Brien lowered Stiles in to a cushioned seat. His hand came down to rest on Stiles' head. “Son, I think you'll find that, in this family, even in death we are connected.”

 

Stiles felt tears rise in his eyes. “Is this my home now?”

 

The older man fell to one knee and wrapped his arms around Stiles shaking body. “This has always been your home, _ua.” Grandson._

 

 

I almost ended the chapter here, but I really owe you guys. Sorry I took so long.

 

In the weeks following, Stiles learned much about his family. One day, when he and his grandpa were in the library— _yeah, bitches, library--_ Stiles asked, “Why is it spring here?”

 

Grandpa O'Brien had lowered his book and smiled. “It is so because I make it so.”

 

“But why? I mean, don't people question it?” Stiles questioned in confusion.

 

Grandpa shook his head. “This is the way its always been. These people, for all their distrust of us, depend on us for their survival. The resources they live on, from the lumber to build their houses to the food they eat everyday, all come from us. You may not have noticed this since your plane flew in directly from the sea, but this city is completely isolated from the rest of the country. Not only that, but the land surrounding it, despite its coastal position is barren.”

 

Stiles took a moment to let that digest. “So their happy to ignore us as long as we give them what they need?”

 

Grandpa shook his head. “Not quite. The town is filled hopefuls who hope to be adopted into the our family.”

 

“Why would they hope for that, or even think that it was an option?”

 

“Now that, is a story for another day. A day when you are ready.”

 

 

A week later, Stiles asked, “How do you make this happen?”

 

They were in the kitchen this time. Stiles had cooked tonight, so they were eating vegetarian lasagne because Stiles couldn't bear to kill any of the Disney-like animals he had encountered his first day.

 

Grandpa O'Brien wiped his mouth with his napkin and looked down at his plate. “How do you get this to taste like there's meat in it?”

 

Stiles grinned. “Magic.”

 

“Exactly! I'm sure Deaton explained about you and your spark, yes?” At Stiles' nod he continued. “ That spark inside you is nearly inexhaustible. It is a fuel source that you use to power your imagination and make it reality. You are only limited by your imagination.”

 

Stiles was silent for a while after that. Then, “So you imagine you're in a Disney Princess' dream everyday?”

 

Grandpa threw a dinner roll at his head.

 

 

Another time, they were swimming in the pond in the back yard. Stiles had to admit that, for someone his age, Grandpa O'Brien had a pretty rocking body. He told him as much.

 

“So Grandpa,” Stiles began from where he was floating on his back in the center of the pond, “You said we're only limited by our imagination.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well sometimes- all the time really- I imagine that I'm not scarred. I imagine my skin is as it was before the run... but, every time I open my eyes, the scars are still there. Why is that?”

 

“There is a rule amongst all in the supernatural world. Some wounds are meant to mark. The marks are used to display status: enemy, banished, class, hunter. Marks such as those will stay and tell all who can read them of the person's fate.”

 

Stiles swallowed tightly. “A-and what do mine say?”

 

“ _ **Released.”**_

 

Another time: “What happens if you're ever unable to imagine your Disney Princess Kingdom?”

 

Grandpa O'Brien had answered. “Usually the job would fall to the next in line, if they wanted it.”

 

Stiles didn't even have to think about it. This was his home. “I want it.”

 

Grandpa had smiled. “Then we must train.”

 

 

One night, Stiles woke to agony. Cramps in his abdomen had him screaming into his pillow until there was a sudden feeling of relief. With relief also came that gnawing emptiness he'd felt his first day there. The next morning he questioned his grandfather about it. Sensing the his grandpa's presence had become second nature to Stiles over the last few weeks, so finding him in the large house wasn't a problem.

 

“So, I think I had a baby last night- or, rather someone else had the baby and I felt their pain... what's up with that, Gramps?” Stiles asked as soon ad his grandfather entered the living area.

 

Grandpa O'Brien sighed deeply. “Oh, this is happening much quicker than I expected.” He lead Stiles over to the couches. “I suppose we are over due for a family history lesson, yes?” he lowered himself to the couch. Angling his body toward Stiles, he lifted his hands palm up and whispered something in Irish. A large book shimmered into his hands.

 

Stiles jumped back in surprise. “No, fuckin' way! We have our own book of shadows?”

 

Grandpa O'Brien smirked sardonically. “Not quite, Stiles. This is, as I said, a history book. And I suppose, for this lesson, the best place to begin would be the beginning.” He turned to the first page. “Centuries ago, our ancestor, Cillian O'Brien was raised here as a slave, just as his parents were before him. Despite this, he found himself unable to accept his position in life. Many times growing up, he protested, only to be met with harsh punishment. As he aged, he found he was not the only slave with this opinion. Soon he had rallied enough supporters to stage a revolt. The rebel slaves... they were mercilessly slaughtered. By the time the hired guards finished with them, their blood flooded the streets to nearly knee high. For days the blood remained still. Each and every one of them were assumed dead. Then, three days after the slaughter, the earth quaked and the blood drained away to reveal fully bloomed flowers where there had once been barren land. In the place of the funeral pyre stood six, blood covered people.

 

At the head of them was Cillian O'Brien. He had called the five others and himself back to life using the blood of those willingly sacrificed. They were Glynesdil's first coven.” Grandpa O'Brien pause for a second. “Upon their awakening, they fled to the desert-lands, afraid to face what they were. It was not until weeks later, when they one of the two women in the coven hear the prayers of the still imprisoned slaves that they returned. By this time, the blood flowers had all wilted, and the land was once again dry. Seeing them arrive, the guards were commanded to kill them. After attempting to eliminate them, however, the guards found themselves unable to move; their senses had been rendered useless, courtesy of one of the four men of the coven. Each and every guard met the same fate until the ruling class was left defenseless. In a last ditch effort to survive, they tried to force the remaining slaves to fight, but were defeated when the slaves simply bowed to the Six.

 

Through the crowd of assembled, cornered nobility, Cillian walked, tearing the images and signs of wealth from their persons. 'From this moment on,' he declared, ' never shall another man own another. Never shall another man be forced to work while others reap his benefits. No longer shall this be a land of inequality, but a land even, fresh, and innocent.' With that, he stomped the ground. Beneath his feet, the earth shook and every single house and building flattened itself against the earth, demolished. The people were forced to unite and rebuild their civilization. Soon, the three classes- owners, guards, and slaves- became one. Their calluses, blisters, and scars became identical. With their blossoming unity, the land also blossomed, fueled by the approval of the Six. This went on for years and years, another generation of O'Brien taking over when the previous fell. It is a tradition that I thought would die when your mother left.” Finally, he was silent, a small saddened smile gracing his features.

 

Stiles sat silently, staring off into place as the tale sunk in. Then a thought occurred to him. “You said that Cillian's coven was the _first_ coven. Does that mean that the other O'Briens' had covens, too?”

 

His grandfather's sad smile deepened. “Very astute of you, _au._ Yes, they did. And before you ask, so did I.”

 

“Wh--”

 

“My coven was unable to accept our bond. They, along with your grandmother, could not handle the power or responsibility that came with it. We all separated soon after your mother was born. I have not spoken to them since.”

 

Grandpa O'Brien's head hung low between his shoulders. He sighed heavily and stood. As he passed Stiles on his way out of the room, he rubbed Stiles' still buzz cut hair. “I'll go start breakfast.”

 

Just as he was about to walk through the door, Stiles stopped him. “Grandpa- wait! How do I... find my coven?”

 

Grandpa O'Brien turned his head to the side and looked at Stile through one eye. “I think, Genim, judging by last night's events, that you've already begun the search.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


 

 

 

 

 


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